


Let My Beloved Come Into My Garden

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020 [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, F/F, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Non-Penetrative Sex Toys, Outdoor Sex, Overstimulation, Sex Toys Under Clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28342482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: A glance to the windows of their home finds Aziraphale staring back at her.  She’s looking indulgently lazy today, clad in her soft blue bathrobe, blonde curls just dusting her shoulders.  It’s far too hot for early mornings and being fully buttoned up, but not too hot to keep Aziraphale away from her tea.  Aziraphale waves at her, a question behind it that thrills Crowley deep in her bones.Slower than she might otherwise, full of anticipation, Crowley waves back.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073915
Comments: 27
Kudos: 147
Collections: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Let My Beloved Come Into My Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poorlyformed (cathybites)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathybites/gifts).



> Day 2 of 12 Days of Blasphemy prompt fills and the prompt for today is: “Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.” (Song of Songs 4:16)
> 
> So starting today these are going to be Christmas gifts for my nearest and dearest Discord friends, and today this one is for poorlyformed.
> 
> Working with you on our collab for Bottom's Up this year was so much fun, and working with you as a mod in TW has been great so far as well! I am so beyond blessed to be able to call you my friend, and I'm grateful that I joined BU and we met there because you are such a wonderful person <3 I hope you like this!

The sun hangs high in the sky above their little cottage. The July heat beats down, makes sweat drip down the back of Crowley’s neck, rolling over the bones of her spine under the collar of her shirt. She packs down the dirt at the base of the tomato plants, lets the soil nestle around the sprouts like a warm hug. She tells it to grow well and to grow strong, just as she has been since they had been mere seeds back in February in the greenhouse. Aziraphale will want only the best vegetables later in the season. 

Crowley doesn’t speak to these plants with the same ire that she used to. Partly because she’s getting soft in her old age, and partly because it just doesn’t work. Vegetables, as it is, aren’t responsive to it like houseplants. Too hardy, being able to photosynthesize in the sun all day. And don’t get her started on the upstart rose bushes.

She goes about her work, as she does almost daily now. Retirement is doing Crowley well, bringing some color to her skin and getting her out in the fresh air. Her arms are mottled with dirt and grime, the knees of her overalls are, too. She has a pair of gardening gloves, stark black with red detailing, a gift upon moving here from Aziraphale. But she doesn’t use them, prefers to feel the soil under her fingers, to scrub it out of her nail beds before they have dinner or retire for the evening. She prefers to  _ feel _ things.

A glance to the windows of their home finds Aziraphale staring back at her. She’s looking indulgently lazy today, clad in her soft blue bathrobe, blonde curls just dusting her shoulders. It’s far too hot for early mornings and being fully buttoned up, but not too hot to keep Aziraphale away from her tea. Aziraphale waves at her, a question behind it that thrills Crowley deep in her bones.

Slower than she might otherwise, full of anticipation, Crowley waves back.

The buzzing starts, and Crowley doubles over where she kneels. There’s a small toy pressed against her, held with a miracle. Aziraphale holds the remote as she watches Crowley from the window. Grey eyes scrutinizing, watching Crowley’s reactions and gauging how much she can handle.

Leave it to her angel to suggest something like this, absolute hedonist that she is.

The speed quickens, working over her clit in undulating waves. Crowley falls forward, braces herself on one arm, digs her fingers into the dirt for purchase. Her knees splay out wider as she sinks against the dirt, the firm ground only holding the toy in place more.

The sweat rolls down her neck, the sun beats down, and Aziraphale watches. 

The toy slows in its vibration, and Crowley knows her reaction is the cause. Aziraphale wants her to wear this in the garden, to go about her day while Aziraphale gives her pleasure. But if she can’t do her work, the game stops. 

Crowley straightens up, takes out her trowel to dig holes for the seeds; cabbage, endive, and carrots. All of them should be ready and steady for winter, all for Aziraphale’s little experiments. She plunges the trowel into the dirt, thinks of fingers and tongues plunging elsewhere as the vibrator continues its rhythmic pulsing. 

She does her best to ignore it. The feel of Aziraphale’s eyes on her, appraising and watching. Aziraphale, so pristine and clean in her robe in their home. With her lapsang tea in it’s delicate little porcelain cup. Watching Crowley here in the garden, dirty and messy even without the added layer of debauchery. It’s very hard to ignore those eyes on her.

It had been impossible to ignore the suggestion, when Aziraphale had brought it up over dinner the previous night. Had taken Crowley’s hand across the table, mused on how much she loved watching her work. How it stirred something within her, how she wanted to take Crowley right there in the garden, fuck her open on that angelic tongue and on well-manicured fingers, right down in the dirt of this Earth they helped save.

Crowley, naturally, had been all for it. But Aziraphale had expounded on how  _ dreadful _ it would be to get her clothes dirty like that, and how  _ uncomfortable _ it would be with the grass in places grass was never meant to be. As usual, though, Aziraphale had an idea. And Crowley could do nothing but follow her into this game with zero hesitancy.

Aziraphale still stares from the window and Crowley tries not to meet her gaze. Goes back to planting. Dig the hole, place the seedling, re-till the soil. The steady buzz recedes and Crowley breathes a sigh of relief as she stands and gathers her tools. She begins the short walk back to the greenhouse when it starts again, this time pulsating like a waltz. Quick, quick, and then a slow roll where it grips around her clit. She cries out, gripping the doorframe of the greenhouse, tools spilling out of her hands and clattering to the sandstone pavers.

“You’re faltering, my darling,” Aziraphale says from the porch, now out in the sunshine and fresh air of her own accord. Her soft robe is slightly askew, just enough for Crowley to get a tantalizing glimpse of soft plush thighs. Just enough for Crowley to know that the robe is the only thing separating Aziraphale’s skin from the hot July air.

“Not faltering, fully enjoying myself, angel —  _ Ah!”  _

Crowley can swear that she hears the click of the button on the remote as the speed increases threefold against the most sensitive part of her. She falls to her knees again, moans as the little device works an orgasm out of her. Her underwear is soaked, and Crowley can feel the wet spot forming against the overalls.

“No,  _ definitely _ , not.” Aziraphale smirks as she takes a seat on one of their patio chairs, clicking the device back to off as Crowley sobs in relief. “Now, why don’t you wash up and then come over here and see me?” Aziraphale punctuates this last by propping her foot on the patio railing, letting her robe fall open and expose her. Crowley can’t help the way her mouth waters; she loves her wife, loves pleasing her and giving her pleasure. 

She washes her hands in the garden sink before crossing the short distance to Aziraphale, who takes her by the hand and pulls her down into her lap. They kiss deep and slow, no need to rush these days, here in their own personal Eden. Here is only hands touching skin, fingers carding through hair, and lips against tongues, against teeth, languid and savored. Crowley nips at Aziraphale’s lower lip, relishes the feel of her giggling into the kiss.

“Quite a temptation you are, my lovely,” Aziraphale whispers as her mouth trails lower, kissing down to the hollow of Crowley’s throat, burning her skin with divine love. “But sometimes I think you need to be  _ instructed _ .”

“Oh, do I?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says with a mischievous grin, “I think you need to learn who’s in charge here.” Aziraphale clicks the toy back on again, straight to full power. Crowley cries out and grinds down against her, pressing her clit against the vibrations and moaning obscenely.

Aziraphale’s soft fingers hook around her chin and pull her into another kiss. She’s far too overwhelmed to be able to kiss back properly, just lets Aziraphale drink the keening noises from her lips as she goes limp in Aziraphale’s arms.

“There we go, that’s more like it.” Aziraphale says as she turns the toy off again. “Is it good, darling?”

“Yes, fuck’s sake, yes,” Crowley pants out, already feeling close to her second orgasm, intense and painful in a way that is oh so delicious.

“I would so like to join you in that pleasure,” Aziraphale says with a sigh, “Perhaps you can find a use for that  _ wicked _ tongue of yours?”

Crowley can never deny her angel anything she wants, never has been able to, not in all the long millennia they’ve spent together. She sinks willingly to her knees, long fingers gripping soft thighs marked with gold. Aziraphale presents herself like an offering, the temptation of once forbidden fruit.

Aziraphale is already wet for her, no doubt worked up on the thought of Crowley’s own pleasure. She takes just as much joy in one as the other. Crowley licks her lips and leans in slowly, allowing herself this one upper hand, this one bit of delicious anticipation. Aziraphale fixes her with an incredulous look, but she doesn’t rush her. She loves the slow way Crowley savors her, like a snake circling her prey. This is part of what she lives for.

Crowley trails open-mouthed kisses along the stretch marks on Aziraphale’s thighs, golden and shimmering in the midday sun as she works her way to where she wants to be. A slow torture that is as much a turn on for her as it is for Aziraphale.

Her tongue forks in the middle, allowed to go just a bit snakey for Aziraphale’s pleasure. She runs the forks along Aziraphale’s labia, flicking in an alternating rhythm that makes Aziraphale’s breath hitch. Crowley laves over Aziraphale’s core slowly, relishing the tremor in Aziraphale’s thighs as they press in close to her.

“Yes, darling, yes,” Aziraphale whispers like a prayer above her until the words disappear, only breathy gasps and moans in their wake as Crowley teases her, ghosting just close enough to her clit to make her want it, just enough pressure at her entrance to make her roll her hips.

Aziraphale twines her fingers through Crowley’s hair, pulling at the braid, pinpricks of pain at the base of her skull. Crowley flicks her eyes up to Aziraphale, taking in the pale expanse of her throat, the heft of her breasts where the robe falls away from them. A vision, a goddess painted in alabaster. The Greeks cast statues of her, the Romans fought wars for her beauty. Her visage is painted on the Sistine chapel, lovely and gorgeous in whatever form she takes.

Aziraphale reaches into the pocket of her robe, slowly takes out the remote while letting her eyes meet Crowley’s. Crowley nods, finally letting her tongue wrap around Aziraphale’s clit, flicking at it in a staccato rhythm as Aziraphale clicks the toy on again.

Crowley moans wantonly and Aziraphale shudders at the vibration of her voice. Her forked tongue finally pushes into Aziraphale’s entrance, prehensile and longer than any human tongue. The toy buzzes against Crowley as she spreads her legs, plunging her tongue deeper and rutting against the porch, rolling the toy over herself in a way that has her legs shaking.

The grip in Crowley’s hair is tight and commanding, moving her where Aziraphale wants. She’s completely at her angel’s mercy as she rolls the tip of her tongue against Aziraphale’s g-spot. Crowley brings her hand up, rolls Aziraphale’s clit between two fingers, trying her damndest to keep ahold of herself to see Aziraphale through to her climax.

It isn’t long before Aziraphale comes, Crowley’s name falling from her lips as she clenches around Crowley’s tongue. She clicks the toy one speed higher as she does, bringing Crowley over the edge with her. Aziraphale’s hips jerk as Crowley slides her tongue out, wiping her face on Aziraphale’s plush thigh. The toy is turned off, and Crowley is pulled into Aziraphale’s lap far more easily than she would care to admit. 

Aziraphale peppers her face with kisses, unclipping the front of her overalls. She reaches between them, collects the toy back carefully as Crowley twitches in her arms at the overstimulation. Crowley nearly cries now that it’s gone, though she’s not sure if it’s relief or the opposite. 

“How do you feel, love?” Aziraphale asks as she carefully undoes Crowley’s braid, deft bookbinder’s fingers carefully untangling the knots in the crimson curls.

“Hmm… good, very good,” Crowley says with a sigh, “Was a good idea you had, angel.”

“Yes, it was fun for me, too, watching you try to work. Perhaps, we should do it again sometime.” Aziraphale runs a gentle touch along the length of Crowley’s spine, lulling her into a wonderful state of laziness and sluggishness. Her whole body, pliant and receptive. Her every thought condensed down to the stroke of fingers and the soft sigh of Aziraphale’s breathing. 

With great difficulty, Crowley opens her eyes, finds Aziraphale looking back at her. 

“Wow,” Crowley says lazily, “You’re beautiful.”

“And  _ you _ are ridiculous,” Aziraphale says, kissing her nose.

Crowley reaches up with a shaky hand, strokes a thumb along Aziraphale’s cheek, “Nah, just know pretty things when I see them.”

Aziraphale blushes at that, a pleasant pink tinge rising in her cheeks. It’s one of Crowley’s favorite colors, one of her favorite things to see. Aziraphale kisses her again as she gathers Crowley up into her arms. Aziraphale carries her inside, and Crowley finds she’s entirely too tired to protest.

They spend the rest of the day curled up together on the couch, trading slow kisses that mirror the heat of the summer day. The garden, as it is, can wait for tomorrow.


End file.
